Ghost Ship

NINE

Dirk Pitt was the Director of NUMA, a post he’d held for several years since his mentor and friend, Admiral James Sandecker, had gone on to be Vice President of the United States.

At six foot three, Pitt was lean and a little on the lanky side. His opaline eyes conveyed an intensity and a sense of mirth equally well. With thick dark hair, broad shoulders, and a square jaw, he cut a striking figure. That was especially true tonight, clad in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, and doused with a splash of musky cologne.

A charity ball for wounded military veterans was on the agenda for the evening, a cause Pitt was glad to be part of. He would give a speech, present an award, and submit a private donation anonymously. For the rest of the night, he’d mix and mingle with a crowd of interesting people. Despite all that, Pitt knew the true star of the night would be his wife, Loren Smith.

She’d chaired the ball, overseen the committees and the invitations, and even chosen the orchestra. With her striking beauty and effortless charm, she would captivate all whom she encountered. No doubt she’d look resplendent in whatever she wore, and most of the attendees might remember Pitt only as that handsome gentleman who stood beside her. Which suited him just fine.

The only drawback was dressing for the evening. They were going to be late if Loren wasn’t ready soon.

Rather than badger her — which would only slow the process further — he stood calmly among a group of perfectly restored antique cars. The vehicles were part of his collection. They graced the ground floor of the aircraft hangar he lived in at Washington National Airport.

As the current Director of NUMA, and the head of the Special Projects Division prior to that, Pitt had been all around the world on various missions and expeditions. Many of the vehicles in the hangar had come back with him or were delivered shortly afterward by grateful colleagues or thankful governments.

To the victor went the spoils.

Before he could decide which of the magnificent vehicles to drive tonight, the intercom system buzzed. Pitt glanced at a monitor on the wall. He saw the face of an old friend with a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard standing at the door. Two larger men loomed behind him, no doubt members of the Secret Service.

Pitt touched a button that released the locks on the steel door. It swung open and the Vice President of the United States walked in. The bodyguards tried to follow, but Sandecker waved them back.

“At ease, men,” he said.

“Mr. Vice President,” Pitt said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later on this evening. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I thought you might have some time to talk before the event,” Sandecker said.

Pitt glanced up the spiral staircase to the apartment above. No sign of Loren yet. “I think we’re onto the third wardrobe change,” he said. “You probably have at least one more before the big reveal.”

Sandecker grinned. “I played the odds. You have anything in this joint to quench a weary traveler’s thirst?”

Pitt walked Sandecker to the bar and filled a couple of shot glasses with Johnnie Walker Blue Label scotch.

After handing a glass to the Vice President, Pitt opened the questioning. “Why doesn’t this seem like a social call?”

“Because I’m here on business,” Sandecker said. “Specifically, that business Kurt pulled this morning on Brian Westgate.”

Pitt nodded. “I’ve been fielding some blowback from that myself.”

“It didn’t put NUMA in a good light.”

If there was anything to get Sandecker riled up, it was bad publicity for NUMA, the organization he’d built from the ground up and still protected like an avenging angel.

“True,” Pitt said. “But I think Kurt’s earned a free pass or two at this point.”

Sandecker narrowed his gaze. “Is that what you told David Forrester? I heard he called you.”

Pitt grinned mischievously and took a sip of the scotch. “What I told Forrester,” he began, “shouldn’t be repeated in good company. But the gist of it went like this: If he was going to go after Kurt, he was going to have to get through me first.”

Sandecker grinned. “I should have guessed. Lucky for Kurt.”

“Kurt screwed up,” Pitt admitted, “but I’m not throwing him to the wolves. If it comes to a shoving match, I’ve got his record to stand on. That’s good enough for me.”

Sandecker nodded. There was an unmistakable sense of pride in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else. Loyalty’s a two-way street and Kurt’s never let us down. So you’ll have my support. But there’s a bigger issue. What’s your take on Kurt’s state of mind?”

Pitt wasn’t sure how to answer. And he wasn’t used to Sandecker beating around the bush. “What are you getting at?”

“Kurt’s been contacting foreign sources. Wiring money to people who might work what we call the shady side of the street.”

This, Pitt didn’t know. “To what end?”

“Looking for any sign that Sienna Westgate might somehow be alive.”

Pitt’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure?”

Sandecker nodded.

Pitt looked off into the hangar. That didn’t sound healthy. Nor, honestly, did it sound like Kurt. Kurt was pragmatic, not given to flights of fancy.

“Every man has his limits,” Pitt mused, considering Sandecker’s original question. “Even you and I have been close to ours a time or two. I suppose it’s possible Kurt’s reached his.”

“Possibly,” Sandecker said. “But in this case, there’s a twist. Trent MacDonald over at Central Intelligence handed me a file today. They’ve looked at the same photos Kurt received and they can’t rule out the chance that Kurt might be onto something.”

“‘Can’t rule out’? What does that mean?”

“It means they think he’s tilting at windmills, but they can’t prove it.” From his pocket, Sandecker produced a three-by-five glossy. It showed a woman who looked somewhat like Sienna Westgate getting in a car with a burly-looking bodyguard. “This was taken in Bandar Abbas.”

Dirk studied the image. It was a little grainy from being blown up. “Do they really think it’s her?”

“A one-in-five chance, I’m told. Not all that high. But the possibility of a missing American being chauffeured around Iran doesn’t make the government happy. Especially not when she was the guiding force behind Phalanx.”

“I can see why that would make people nervous,” Pitt said. “What do they plan on doing about it?”

“Well, there’s the rub,” Sandecker said. “Despite my efforts, the Agency is reluctant to do more than keep an eye on things. They see it as a catch-22. If that’s her — and the Iranians took her — that’s an act of war. And believe me, no one wants to open that can of worms. On the other hand, if it isn’t her, they risk exposing precious resources in the effort.”

Dirk understood the dilemma. He glanced back at the photo. The woman was made-up, her hair pulled back, her clothes conservative business style. Large sunglasses made it impossible to see her eyes or perform any type of facial recognition analysis. “She doesn’t appear to be under any duress.”

“That’s another concern.”

“Who’s the jughead next to her?”

“He’s a mystery,” Sandecker said. “He goes by the name of Acosta. He’s a minor player in the Middle East and Africa. Weapons mostly. We know he’s run guns and other contraband from time to time, but he’s not a big name.”

Dirk handed the photo back. “So what does this have to do with Kurt?”

“It’s been expressed to me that, should Kurt Austin be interested in poking around a little, no one in a position of power would be too upset about the matter. As long as he did it in the capacity of a private citizen.”

Pitt raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

“He already shook the tree,” Sandecker noted. “If he shakes a little harder, who knows what might fall out.”

Pitt wasn’t sure he liked the idea. “So they want to use Kurt to sound out the edges of this dark little cave. If he finds something, we’re a little wiser. And if he gets burned in the process, nothing strategic gets lost.”

“That’s life in the big leagues,” Sandecker said.

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Dirk replied. “But did anyone consider Kurt’s condition in all this? I’m not interested in sending a wounded man into the lion’s den.”

“Nor am I,” the VP said. “Which brings us back to my original question. In your opinion, is Kurt Austin fit for duty?”

The conversation had come full circle, and Pitt was left to consider the question on his own.

Sandecker pulled a thin black memory stick from his pocket. A tiny green LED on the end glowed dimly. “Encrypted files. To get Kurt on his way. But only if you think he’s up to it.”

Pitt took the memory stick from Sandecker without comment. As he did, the door to the upstairs apartment opened and Loren Smith stepped out. She was dressed in a golden-vanilla Ralph Lauren gown that hugged her body perfectly. Her auburn hair was swept off her face and draped softly over one shoulder.

“Congresswoman,” the Vice President said, “you look radiant. Beautiful enough to make up for the lunk you’ll be dragging around with you all night.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vice President,” she said. “But one look at Dirk and I’m quite sure I’ll need a club to chase away all the admiring women.”

Sandecker’s eyes twinkled. “Chase a few of them my way.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and then turned to let himself out. “See you at the party.”

As Sandecker left, Loren slid her arm around Dirk and then paused. She could instinctively sense the tension. “What’s wrong?”

“I have a difficult decision to make,” he said.

“You’ve never been one to have trouble deciding anything.” “This choice is more complicated than most,” he said. “Hope you’re not too hungry. We’re going to have to make a detour on our way to the event.”